


Eyes are for Watching

by ghostwriterofthemachine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Dark, Gen, Guns, Harm to Children, Tragedy, Violence, death of children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriterofthemachine/pseuds/ghostwriterofthemachine
Summary: They had practiced this evacuation a hundred times before. It was Grantaire’s job to get the kids out.





	Eyes are for Watching

**Author's Note:**

> General warning: this is tragedy and darkness for the sake of tragedy and darkness. I am starting finals and am super stressed, and my preferred form of stress relief is to write something horribly sad and dark. And I just read some really great headcannons about R and children, which were all happy and cute, so of course this is where my brain went. This is kind of senseless in its sad darkness. 
> 
> What I'm trying to say is that this is a story where Bad and Sad things happen and nothing is resolved. I'm not usually one to tell people to mind the tags, but please mind the tags.

They had practiced this evacuation a hundred times before. It was Grantaire’s job to get the kids out. 

 

There were six kids under 10 who lived in the ABC’s compound. They were orphans, most made because their parents were saying things the government didn’t like. A few were street kids too young for Gavroche to leave to fend for themselves. One was the younger brother of a young man who joined the cause and died in a raid. 

 

They practiced this evacuation. Every one of the core members of the group had a specific job to do, and they knew how to do it like clockwork. Combeferre was to gather every piece of intel they had and burn any copies. Courfeyrac was to lead most of their population, non-essential personnel and ‘civilians,’ to the safety of their Alpha site. Joly gathered their medical supplies and destroyed any records, Feuilly and Bahorel packed up their weapon stores. Bossuet set charges that would block and hide everyone else's escape. Enjolras and Jehan, as the most recognizable and the fastest, respectively, would be distractions, running through the most obvious escape routes to (hopefully) distract the soldiers enough for everyone else to get away. And Grantaire was to get the kids out. 

 

Grantaire liked the kids. He liked children in general, actually. He spent hours of his time in the makeshift nursery, telling them stories, teaching them art with homemade inks and paints that Feuilly helped him make, on scraps of paper or, sometimes, on the walls. Everyone trusted him with the kids. No matter his cynicism, no matter how deep into his own self loathing he was, Grantaire would never do anything to put a child in danger. 

 

They had run through the motions of the evacuation a hundred times. They had practiced and re-practiced it until everything ran smooth as silk. 

 

This time was not practice. 

 

Grantaire held the tiny hand of Alain as they moved, quickly as they could, through the ankle-deep water of the storm drains. The air was damp and cool. Not to far away, R could still hear the sound of marching feet, gunshots, and violence. 

 

The raid had come out of nowhere. It was only because of Eponine’s warning that they had a few minutes notice before the Guards arrived. 

 

The kids were the only group that was evacuated through the storm drains. It took longer to get to their Alpha site with this route, and took an almost comically indirect route to get there. But it was, theoretically, safer. They weren’t out in the open. As far as they knew, the ABC were the only people who knew the old drainage tunnels existed. Alain squeezed Grantaire's hand tighter. 

 

Grantaire glanced behind him and did another headcount. All of the children trailed behind him, holding hands in a chain. Alain, the oldest at 9, then Jade and Deniel, both 8, Cécile, a very mature 5-year-old, Flavie, who was 6, and Henri, who was 3. 

 

Grantaire paused, realizing that the water that came up to his ankles was nearly to Henri’s knees. There had been a storm earlier in the week. He beckoned to him, then hoisted the tiny child into his arms. Henri threw his arms around Grantaire’s neck, held on and shook. 

 

“R,” whispered Jade, small and fearful. Even that noise echoed like a gunshot. 

 

“Shh,” Grantaire cautioned, soothing it was a smile. “You remember what we practiced. You must be very quiet,  _ petite _ .”

 

“I’m scared,” said Deniel. “Those men had guns. They were shooting.”

 

“I know you are,” Grantaire said, voice low, “and I know there were. But soon we’ll be at a safe place and there’ll be no reason to be scared anymore. We just need to keep moving, you remember?.”

 

Deniel nodded, eyes wide. 

 

“Yeah,” Cécile whispered a child’s whisper. It echoed. “Remember, we get to the place and Monsieur Feuilly and all the others are there, and we get cookies.” She blinked up at Grantaire, her pupils luminescent in the dimness. “Monsieurs Feuilly and Courfeyrac and everyone are waiting, right, R?”

 

Grantaire shifted Henri onto his hip and nodded. “Yes, CeeCee,” he said, though he had no way of being sure of that. 

 

Deniel and Jade still looked nervous, but Flavie squeezed both of their hands. 

 

“It’s okay,” she smiled. “R is here to protect us.”

 

Something in Grantaire’s heart twisted. “Of course I am,” he said. 

 

Alain puffed up his chest. “Me too! I’m here to protect you, too!”

 

Grantaire smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “We need to keep moving now. Can you all do that?”

 

Their little heads bobbed in nods. Grantaire nodded once, firmly, back. He made sure Henri was securely on his hip, took Alain’s hand again, made sure the other children were connected through locked fingers, and started walking. 

 

The water they waded through was cold, and everything was dark enough to be thrown into shade of grey. Grantaire didn’t want to risk a flashlight. 

 

They were halfway there, now. Henri was half-asleep, and getting heavier in his arms, but Grantaire wasn’t about to put him down. Flavie sniffled past a runny nose, and both Deniel and Jade’s lips were nearly blue. Cécile was shivering and Alain’s fingers like ice. Grantaire couldn’t even imagine how tired they are were. All he wanted to do was give them all hot tea and get them tucked into bed. 

 

Over halfway there, now. Not very much further. They were approaching the home stretch. 

 

Against his neck, Henri began to fuss. Grantaire made soothing noises and added a bounce to his step. 

 

“Shh,” he murmured, “shh, shh. We’re almost there, almost there. Just you wait, we’re almost-”

 

The group of them turned another corner, and Grantaire came face-to-face with a rifle. 

 

There was a long beat, both sides of the gun staring at each other in surprise. Time slowed just enough for Grantaire to count: 7 soldiers. All of them armed. 

 

Then he pivoted on his left leg, delivering the best kick to the head that he could while holding a child The soldier yelled, and Grantaire used his momentum to spin him the rest of the way around. He scooped the second youngest child- Cécile- into his arms, balancing her with Henri, and choked out an order to the other four:

 

“ _ Run _ .”

 

They splashed through the water and the darkness, the sounds of the soldiers and their guns so very, very close to their heels. 

 

Grantaire didn’t even know what he was running  _ towards _ , at this point, only that they had to get away. There had to be a safe place to hide, somewhere in these tunnels. They could say there, until everyone at the Alpha site realized that they weren’t back yet, and then a search party would be sent out. Backup would come, it  _ would _ , they just had to find someplace safe until then-

 

The tunnel they were running through opened up. The room was lit slightly, through slitted vents at the very top of it. It was perfectly round, and there was still water on the floor. 

 

It was a dead end. 

 

Cécile and Henri were both half-sobbing weights in his arms, Jade, Flavie, Deniel and Alain all shaking and pressing against his legs. The sound of the soldiers approaching got louder. Grantaire looked around wildly for someway, anyway, out. 

 

There was none. 

 

He let Cécile and Henri down to the ground, and herded all six of them to the far wall. 

 

“Behind me,” he hissed. “Stay behind me, and stay quiet.”

 

Jade sobbed quietly, and Grantaire placed himself between the children and the entrance just as the soldiers tramped in, guns at the ready. 

 

“Leave them alone,” said Grantaire, in a voice he hoped commanded respect. He prayed it was not shaking. “I’ll go with you, I’ll cooperate, but leave the others alone.”

 

The leader took a slow, deliberate step into the room. His nose was bleeding from where Grantaire kicked him. 

 

“I’ll cooperate!” Grantaire said again, louder this time. He could feel the little bodies shaking in fear behind him. “I will do whatever is asked of me. Just let them go."

 

Another step closer. The other soldiers filed in behind him. 

 

“Please,” said Grantaire, and this time he knew his voice broke. “Please, they’re just  _ children _ .”

 

The soldier smiled. 

 

.

 

Grantaire and the kids hadn’t made it to the Alpha site yet. 

 

They had waited an extra hour after their expected time of arrival came and went, then another two after that to be certain, before they sent out a search party. 

 

Enjolras, Joly, Jehan, and Combeferre waded through the water of the drainage sewers, retracing the path that R and the kids should have taken hours ago. 

 

Joly wrung his hands. Him and Enjolras had taken one direction in a forked tunnel, Jehan and Combeferre the other. “Something must have happened,” he said, glancing around nervously. 

 

Enjolras said, “You don’t know that,” though he didn’t know who he was trying to convince at this point. 

 

“Why else would they be late, Enjolras?”

 

“One of the kids turned their ankle? They got lost?” Enjolras offered, shining his flashlight this way and that. “No one else knows about these tunnels but us. They’re here, and they’re safe.”

 

Joly looked unconvinced. “Yeah.”

 

“Any second now, we’ll find R and the kids, and then we’ll be able to all sit down and start to focus on how the Monarchy figured out where we were hiding, then start to plan our next move. All we need is-  _ oof _ .” Enjolras ran into Joly’s back. He had come to a short, sudden stop, his flashlight pointed to something on the wall. 

 

“What is it?”

 

Joly didn’t answer. Enjolras moved up next to him, and froze. 

 

Blood was smeared, deliberately, on the brick wall. It formed a rough arrow, pointing down one of the side tunnels. 

 

Enjolras drew his pistol. He signaled for Joly to stay behind him, and they moved down the tunnel as one. 

 

More blood painted the walls like demented fingerpaint. 

 

At the end of the tunnel was a gently lit, circular room, probably used for spillover or storage when the sewers were in use. The contents of it made Enjolras to stop short, and all his blood to run cold. 

 

The water that coated the floor of the room was stained a dark, dark red. Five tiny bodies lay, irreverent and unmoving, scattered on ground like discarded toys. 

 

The sixth and smallest body, just as unmoving, lay on the lap of Grantaire, who was crumpled and glassy-eyed against the farthest wall. 

 

“Oh god,” Joly breathed. He looked sick. Enjolras felt the same: you didn’t have to be a doctor to know what a dead body looked like. What a dead child looked like. 

 

Anger and grief bubbled up deep inside him, but Enjolras forced it down, forced himself to compartmentalized. He grabbed Joly’s arm, making them both tear their eyes from the scene. 

 

“Go and get Combeferre,” he whispered. “We need both doctors here.” Joly nodded faintly. Enjolras added, “and do  _ not  _ let Jehan come into this room for any reason, you hear me?” Because it was one thing to ask doctors to be in a room with something like this, and another thing entirely to ask Jehan. 

 

Joly shook himself, visibly pulled himself together. “Yes. Yes, I understand, I’ll be right back.” He paused. “You have-” he looked over at Grantaire, who still hadn’t moved or acknowledged they were here. 

 

Enjolras nodded sharply. ”Yes.”

 

Joly nodded back, then splashed off on shaking legs. Enjolras entered the room slowly. He forced himself not to look at the empty, staring eyes-  _ compartmentalize, compartmentalize _ \- of Flavie, Jade, Cécile, Deniel, Alain. Each of them with a round, clean bullet hole through their foreheads. 

 

He crossed to Grantaire’s shaking body and forced himself to kneel in the bloody water. Grantaire’s hands were slick with blood. He was mindlessly smoothing back Henri’s hair, over and over. Henri’s eyes were closed. There was no hole in his forehead, but the shirt that covered his stomach was saturated in blood. 

 

Enjolras almost heaved at the image of Grantaire, sitting here, trying to soothe a toddler dying from a gunshot to the gut. 

 

“Grantaire,” said Enjolras. Grantaire didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink. He continued to stare forward, unseeing, his hand traveling ceaselessly through Henri’s hair. “Grantaire, my friend, look at me.”

 

Still nothing. 

 

Enjolras reached out and touched his fingers to the side of his jaw. “Grantaire, _ look at me _ .” 

 

It must have been the touch that did it. R blinked slowly, his eyes coming to focus on the man in front of him. Enjolras left his fingers where they were. 

 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire croaked. “God, Enjolras, I tried. I tried to stop them. You have to believe me. I tried.”

 

“I know,” said Enjolras. “I-”

 

“I said I would cooperate,” Grantaire continued, as if Enjolras hadn’t spoken. “I told them I would surrender and cooperate, if they would leave them alone. I didn’t try to fight them. I didn’t even draw my gun. There were too many, I wouldn’t have won if I didn’t have the kids with me. I did the thing I thought was going to keep them safe.” 

 

“R-”

 

“I begged, Enjolras, I begged them not to. I would have done anything to get them to stop. But they didn’t. They wouldn’t listen to me. They just took them, one by one-” Grantaire’s voice broke. Silent tears started running down his face. 

 

Enjolras swallowed past a lump in his own throat. “Grantaire-”

 

“They said it was a message,” said R, voice thick and far away. “A message for you. They left me alive so I could deliver it.” He laughed, or choked out some awful parody of a laugh. “They said that  _ seeds sown in revolutionary soil will never make it to bloom _ .”

 

Enjolras took Grantaire by the shoulders and pulled him to his chest. Grantaire pressed his forehead into his shoulder, but kept his arms around little Henri. He sobbed.

 

Enjolras could feel emotions churning just under the surface of his skin, violent and angry and so, so sad, a grief so deep it hurt him to feel it. He pushed away everything but the anger. There would be time, later, for grief. There would be time to feel the full weight of this senseless, crushing loss.

 

But right now, what Enjolras needed was his anger. 

 

He put a hand into Grantaire’s thick, dark curls as the other man cried onto his shoulder and braced him there. 

 

“We’ll kill them for this, R,” he said, and his voice shook. “I promise you, their blood will run in the streets for this.”

  
He promised blood as he knelt in a pool of it, diluted by water but still just as staining, and Grantaire cried and cried and cried. 


End file.
